


Sweetness Follows

by Edge_of_Clairvoyance



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Aftermath of spanking, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Family, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Spanking, POV Dean Winchester, Pre-Series, Spanking, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 06:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12293151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_Clairvoyance/pseuds/Edge_of_Clairvoyance
Summary: It's not like it's the first time his dad had whipped him, far from it, but it's the first time Dad had just up and left him after he finished weaving his belt back through the loops of his jeans, left him without so much as a word or a touch to reassure him that it's okay, that he is forgiven.Because maybe this time he isn't.





	Sweetness Follows

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Disciplinary Discrepancy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/651953) by [reapertownusa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa). 



> The story doesn't have an actual spanking in it, but it's referred to and discussed. So if that may bother you, please don't read. Also language, a given thing when you have Winchesters.
> 
> The title is a song by R.E.M.

_Allayville, Maine, 2000_

 

"You stay right here. You move your ass out of this room, and I'll blister it worse than I just did. Is that clear, Dean?"

"Yes, sir."

The door slams shut, and he's alone.

For a minute he just stands there, breathing the stale air in and out, in and out. His breaths aren't calm yet, they hitch and he's pretty sure he is letting out small moans when he exhales. He brings a shaky hand up to his face; it's wet, of course it is, and as soon as he wipes away the old tears there are new ones silently trailing down his cheeks. He just lets them be and carefully bends to pull up his pants.

He groans as he slides the boxers over his welted ass. Even the touch of the thin cotton feels too rough, but he isn't going to hang around buck naked, even if he's alone in the motel room. He does, however, reconsider the jeans; he doesn't actually need these. After all, he's not going anywhere anytime soon. So he unlaces his boots, toes them off, pushes the jeans all the way down and steps out of them, leaving them on the floor.

And again he is just standing there, not really knowing what to do. It's not like it's the first time his dad had whipped his ass raw, far from it, but it's the first time Dad had just up and left him after he finished weaving his belt back through the loops of his jeans, left him without so much as a word or a touch to reassure him that it's okay, that he is forgiven.

Because maybe this time he isn't.

Not after what he did. Not after nearly getting Caleb killed.

He closes his eyes and brings a fist to his mouth to stifle a sob. Dad hadn't taken a belt to him since that last time about two years ago, when Dean was absolutely sure he would need a skin transplant on his backside, it hurt _that_ bad. But after it was done Dad held him until he was all cried out and then held him some more, just because. It didn't help his ass any, but it eased the clench in his chest. And now his entire ribcage is throbbing, throbbing so terribly he can't even breathe.

The door swings open and Sam comes in and tosses his backpack aside. A dimpled smile lights up his face upon seeing his big brother.

"Hi, Dean, you're back! The hunt's over?" Dean doesn't answer, and Sam halts to stare at him. The smile falters and dissolves when he takes in the sight of Dean standing there in his shirt and boxers, trembling and teary-faced. Sam moves a few steps closer. "Dean? You're okay? Dad's okay?"

Dean nods. "Yeah, we're fine. Caleb-" he chokes a bit, then regains his voice. "Caleb's hurt. The rawhead clawed him bad."

Sam gasps. "How bad? Where is he?"

"In his room. Dad patched him up and stuffed him full of antibiotics and painkillers. He's out cold. Dad went to watch over him, see that the stitches hold and that he doesn't spike a fever."

"Jesus," Sam breaths out. "What happened there?" Dean's chest clamps tighter and he closes his eyes. He can hear the little shuffle of Sam taking another step forward.

"It was my fault," he whispers, partly to Sam, partly to himself. "We went over the game plan, I knew my part. But when we got to its lair, I don't know what came over me. I thought I saw an opening to take the sonovabitch down, I just rushed in-" he inhales, eyes still closed. "It was playing me. Almost got me, too, but Caleb saved my ass, jumped right into the damn thing." He rubs a hand down his face, not looking at Sam. He doesn't want to see the disapproval in his brother's face.

But Sam's voice is gentle when he asks, "And you're okay? Did it get you? Were you hurt?"

Dean shakes his head. "I'm fine."

"You're not. You're in pain."

Despite himself, Dean scoffs a bit. "Yeah, a tanning will do that to you."

"A what?" Dean glances at Sam for a second, and then looks away. "Dean, did Dad whip you? Did he?"

Dean gives a small nod. It's not like he can really keep it a secret from his brother. Sam is bound to see him squirming whenever he sat down for the next few days.

"Jesus Christ, Dean, why would you let him do that for?!"

This is not the response Dean is expecting, and he is so surprised he looks up at Sam. "What'd you mean?"

"You're twenty-one years old, for crying out loud! He can't _spank_ you!"

"You know Dad doesn't give a crap about how old we are when it comes to screwing up this bad. And it's not like I didn't deserve it, 'cause I deserved a hell of a lot worse."

"It's fucked up, Dean! He can take you off hunts, he can dump you at Bobby's or at Pastor Jim's, hell, he can make you run laps. He can-"

"It's not the same."

"No, it's not! I know you fucking _idolize_ the man, but you can't go along with him doing this to you! Damn it, Dean, what are you, twelve?!"

Sam rumbles on, but it all kind of washes around Dean. He is so tired, so throughly and utterly tired.

"Can we not do this now, Sam? I've been awake for nearly twenty hours straight, the hunt was a mess, and Dad really layed into me hard. I want a shower and some sleep. I promise I'll let you yell at me all you want later, okay? Just… please," he hates how his voice sounds, wavery and pleading, a little boy's voice. But he doesn't have the energy to man it up. Not right now. He doesn't feel like a man right now.

Sam looks at him, and something is passing over his face. Before Dean can figure it out, Sam steps forward and suddenly his arms are wrapping around Dean.

Sam has really sprouted up like a weed; he already matches Dean's height, and Dean suspects he isn't done growing yet. But at this moment he doesn't care, because when Sam holds him with one hand on the back of Dean's neck and the other gently rubbing his back, and when Dean presses his face into Sam's shoulder, he feels like _he_ is the little brother. And it feels… he would have thought 'good', but he is everything other than good right now. It feels _right_. His hands creep up to grab Sam's shirt, exactly like Sammy used to do when Dean comforted him, and a whimper escapes his lips.

"It's okay, it's okay, Dean," Sam murmurs into his ear. His hand keeps rubbing Dean's back, and he starts to sway ever so slightly, rocking Dean with him. "I'm sorry I yelled. I'm so sorry. It's okay now."

And then Dean lets go. His sobs are muffled by Sam's shoulder and his tears are moisting Sam's shirt and his shivering body presses against Sam's. And Sam just stands there, patiently holding him, rubbing his back and rocking him, rubbing and rocking.

Dean calms down at last, but he remains as he is, face hidden in Sam's shoulder, clutching handfuls of Sam's shirt, and sniffles quietly. Sam has stopped rubbing his back and just holds him, leaning his head to rest against Dean's. After a few minutes he says, "you need to lie down for a bit, okay?"

Dean nods against his shoulder but doesn't move. So Sam starts walking very slowly, making Dean walk with him to the bed. When they reach it, he finally takes his arms off Dean and gently tries to pry his hands away from his shirt.

"No," Dean breaths out, his voice pleading, not even aware what he's asking. But Sam understands.

"I'm here, I'm not leaving you. Just let me get settled first," and with this Dean can finally make himself disengage and stand by the bed as Sam quickly kicks off his shoes, sprawls on his back and reaches a hand out for Dean.

Gingerly Dean lowers himself onto the bed, mindful of his throbbing behind, tucks himself against Sam's side and lays his head on Sam's chest. Sam wraps an arm around him, reaches over with the other to find Dean's arm and holds it.

Dean closes his eyes and breaths. How many times over the years did they lie like this, with Sam snuggling against his side and using his chest as a pillow? Now Sam is the one he snuggles against, little Sammy, not so little anymore. Not little at all. And it's good. It is, because right now he needs a big brother.

When he opens his eyes again, the light has changed. He must have been out for a few hours at least. Sam is gone and he is lying alone in bed. No, not alone; Dad is sitting on the edge of the bed at his side, looking at him. When he sees Dean is awake, he smiles.

"Hey."

"Hey," he searches his father's face for discontent, anger, disappointment, and finds none. "How's Caleb?"

"The stitches are holding, the wounds don't seem to be inflaming, so far he isn't getting feverish. He woke up a little while ago. Still weak, but the painkillers are helping."

"That's awesome," it is, and a little more weight is lifted off his chest. Dad reaches down, puts his big hand on the side of Dean's face and his thumb traces his cheekbone with a gentle touch.

"He wants to see you."

"He does?" Why would he, after Dean nearly got him killed? But Dad is still smiling, his calloused thumb still patting his cheek.

"He's worried about you, he was scared you got hurt. And he also knows you wouldn't believe me if I told you he's not mad at you, so you'll need to hear it from him."

Dean does have a hard time believing anybody would be so forgiving toward a reckless, stupid-ass hunter that put their lives in danger, but as much as he feels like he could never look Caleb in the face again, he'd have to apologize to him at some point or another, and now is as good a time as any.

Dad takes his hand off him and he carefully maneuvers out of bed without putting weight on his sore ass. His jeans and boots are still on the floor where he left them.

Sam is sitting at the table in the kitchenette area, and as Dean finishes getting dressed he stands up. "I'll come with you."

They go out of the motel room. Outside the sky is painted with orange and yellow and red, and the sun is half-hidden behind the line of trees on the other side of the road in front of the motel. They stand side by side, watching the sunset and feeling the breeze on their skin.

Finally, Dean asks, "Did you get in his face about it?"

"Who, Dad's? About spanking you?" Sam shakes his head. "I wanted to, but no, I didn't."

"How come?"

The whispered breeze moves Sam's bangs lightly as he sighs. "I knew it'd just get you upset, and you were plenty upset already. And also, when he came in, the way he looked at you… this worried, sort of _tender_ look…" he shakes his head again, as if clearing it. "And I had a little time to think, when you were asleep. About what you said, that being taken off hunts or dumped at Bobby's wouldn’t be the same. And maybe… maybe for you it's not, maybe for you it doesn't feel like a real _punishment_ , you know? You like things to be sharp and clear and… and I don't know, to the point? And this is as much to the point as it gets, I guess. I mean, it's physical, it's indisputable, it's _there_. You get your ass whipped, pay for whatever you did, and it's done. And you can let go of the guilt." Sam turns his head to look at him. "Am I making any sense?"

It isn't like Dean had ever thought the damn thing through this coherently, but you can trust Wonder Geek to psychoanalyzed the shit out of him. It almost makes Dean smirk. He nods slightly, and Sam sighs again.

"Look, man, I don’t like it anymore now than I did a couple hours ago, but you're an adult, at least most of the time. And if this… _works_ , or whatever, for you, then I'll try to stay out of it. But if it doesn't… whenever you need me…"

Dean nods at him. "Thanks, Sam." He drops his eyes for a minute, shuffles his feet and looks up again. "And thanks for… back there."

Sam smiles, a soft little smile. "Anytime, Dean."

"Dude, I hope I wouldn't need it _that_ often."

Sam's smile broadens. "Make sure you don't, 'cause you know, man, you got snot on my shirt, and-"

"Zip it, Sammy."

Sammy zips it, his dimpled smile wide and warm, and Dean smiles back and glances over to catch the last bit of sun before it slips away behind the trees.

**Author's Note:**

> The story (or rather, the 2-part series) that was my inspiration is one of the best SPN CP stories I have read to date. Not only is it splendidly written, it also gives a believable psychological explanation as to why a corporal punishment would work so well for Dean, and that is my mindset for him whenever I write a spanking fic.
> 
> Like my works? Want to subscribe and get updates on new stories? Make sure you subscribe to the **user** and not the specific work!


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